


Luffa At First Sight

by selunchen, slipgoingunder



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Awkward Ben Solo, Awkward Flirting, Banter, Carpenter!Rey, Chekhov’s sponge, Cockblocking Luke Skywalker strikes again, Crush at First Sight, F/M, Hand Jobs, Hipster!Ben, Is Ben Spongeworthy?, Luffa sponges are weird, Meet-Cute, Non-Linear Narrative, Phallic sponges, Shower Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-10-28 11:03:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17786180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/selunchen/pseuds/selunchen, https://archiveofourown.org/users/slipgoingunder/pseuds/slipgoingunder
Summary: “She wanted a luffa sponge.He wanted her number.”ORTwo lonely farmers’ market workers exchange goods and, um, services on a Thursday afternoon.





	Luffa At First Sight

**Author's Note:**

> Selunchen had a cute Valentines idea and an interest in the making of luffa sponges. I had a pun with no plot. This is the result. 
> 
> This flashes forward and backward in time for no discernible reason. 
> 
> Actually the reason is that I wrote this drabble over a period of three hours and at 1 am.

 [](https://ibb.co/xhJRg5H)

_EARLIER_

 

“What do you think? For Poe?”

“Because it looks like a giant dildo?” 

“Have you ever seen a dildo that large?” 

“I’ve seen enough regular-sized dildos, thank you very much.”

Ben overhears plenty of odd conversations at the farmer’s market, but the girl’s voice catches his ear.

“When do you have to be back at the booth?”

“Five more minutes. Think we have time to get some Portuguese egg tarts?”

The stall doesn’t do a very brisk business in the morning, before the market is crowded, so he mostly just sits on a folding chair, semi-hidden behind the baskets of luffa sponges of various shapes and sizes, reading a book. 

He puts about as much effort into working his Uncle Luke’s luffa sponge stand as he puts into anything that isn’t his band or his fledgling blog where he posts his short stories under a pseudonym. Not that anyone would care if he used his real name. Sometimes the market customers make for good character fodder for songs or stories. 

“I could do a whole themed gift basket,” the man says, “with that seaweed soap I bought and the sea salt scrub. All products from the water.”

Ben usually lets these misconceptions go, but there’s something irresistible in the girl’s voice that forces him to clear his throat and stand.

“Actually, luffas are grown—”

“Oh fantastic, Finn. A man is going to explain how something works. Because I don’t get enough of that over at my tent.”

“—on land.”

Ben draws himself all the way up to standing. He’d pictured someone...different. She’s wearing a pair of shapeless overalls over an orange shirt with rolled up sleeves. There’s absolutely nothing expected about her clothing.

She looks at him with a hint of surprise, her hazel eyes narrowing very slightly, following him up as he stands. He imagines his face is doing something similar. At least he hopes it only appears to be expressing modest surprise and not something more. He’s trying very hard not to look anywhere but her eyes. 

What would she notice about him? Dark hair that falls in his equally dark eyes sometimes. A long, pale face with a nose that his mother obnoxiously calls “aquiline.” He almost hopes she ignores all that and focuses on his sweater. It’s really the thing he likes most about his appearance right now.

Faltering for a second, he points at the informational sign in front of one of the baskets. Luke designed and printed it and it annoys Ben to no end that his uncle had opted for Papyrus as the font. 

”They’re grown right here,” he says, as if they care. 

The girl’s eyes follow his hand to the sign. 

“Huh,” her friend ( _or boyfriend_ ) says, “There goes my gift basket idea.”

“I dunno,” the girl says, as she touches one of ripe luffas with her fingertips. “They’re kind of interesting.”

“Like giant green dongs.”

“Like cucumber skeletons.” She picks up one of the bars of soap, with luffa embedded inside, holding it up to her nose, closing her eyes, and inhaling. 

She has a smattering of freckles. He’s not sure why he’s looking at her closely enough to notice, but he is.

She lets out a soft, satisfied _mmmm_ over the sounds of the early morning market. 

“That’s nice,” she says. “It reminds me of something.”

Ben can’t stop the corner of his mouth from pulling up into the faintest hint of a smile and he’s pretty sure the girl notices. His ears feel hot. 

Her friend ( _why not be optimistic?_ ) picks up one of the sponges and rubs it teasingly on her bare arm. “And who doesn’t want a dried out cucumber skeleton to rub all over their wet, naked body?”

Her cheeks flush and she casts her eyes down, shrugging her shoulder away from him. 

“Is that your end game with this present?” the girl says, recovering her nonchalant demeanor as they continue walking. He watches as they stroll past Phasma’s neighboring succulent stall. There’s no real reason for him to continue standing. Except that the girl turns her head slightly to her right and flicks her eyes back to him. 

It’s just a momentary thing—maybe a third of a second—but it’s enough. His heart thumps and he knows he’s not going to sit back down and disappear into his book today. 

 

* * *

 

 

_LATER_

Rey eats all but one of the empanadas in the van, like she’s afraid the bag might get snatched out of her hands, but Ben doesn’t mind. His nerves are overriding his hunger at this point. 

Four in the afternoon is a strange time to bring someone back to your apartment. As they drive out of the denser part of the city down to the more sparsely populated neighborhood where Luke has set up his urban homestead, Ben wonders if Rey is also uneasy about this. They should be making a public show of being on an official date. If that’s what this is. 

Pulling into the driveway, he starts to run through a mental checklist of everything that could go wrong in the next forty-five seconds: 

Luke could be home. Or worse, waiting to talk to him.  
His apartment over the garage might not be the cleanest it’s ever been. That happens sometimes when the band rehearsal runs late and he has to get up at the crack of dawn for the market.  
Rey could be allergic to the black and white cat that showed up three months ago and hasn’t decided to leave yet. It’s like the cat instinctively knows Ben doesn’t actually like being alone and humors him by sticking around.  


As it turns out, all three things happen, just a little bit. 

 

* * *

 

 

_EARLIER_

 

He’s seen the tent with small wooden chairs and coffee tables at the market before. But never the girl. He would have noticed. Maybe. He spends a lot of time sitting behind the sponges, reading and listening to music, so he’s not exactly observant. But now he can’t _not_ think about the fact that she’s just across the aisle, on the diagonal, chatting with a customer in a tiny sea of wooden chairs that are identical in shape, but stained in a variety of colors and finishes.

Ben starts generating a list of possible other jobs she does when she’s not selling wooden chairs. Maybe she’s a painter, which would explain the overalls with paint splatters. The pencil that’s tucked behind her ear calls to mind a waitress. Or a student? A fellow writer who keeps an actual composition notebook with her at all times because tapping out auto-corrected words on a phone just isn’t the same?

She’s smiling cheerfully enough at the customer while they’re chatting; but after the middle-aged man walks away, the smile falters and she gets a sort of relieved look on her face, as if she’s very happy not to have to chit chat with a stranger. 

Which makes it a bit awkward that Ben, a stranger, really wants to walk over there and talk to her. 

 

* * *

 

 

_LATER_

Luke is out back, in the garden. Ben hasn’t put his laundry away or done the dishes. And Rey does sneeze when he opens the door. (“I’ll be fine if I take some Zyrtec next time,” she assures him, and he _definitely_ catches the _next time_.) He shoos the cat out the back exit. If he and the cat understand each other in the slightest, all will be forgiven by tomorrow.

When he returns to the living room, Rey is sitting at his drum kit, experimenting with the bass drum pedal. 

It’s the cutest fucking thing he has ever seen. 

“This always looked so fun to me,” she says, tapping lightly on the high hat. “Will you show me how this works?”

“Later,” he says, with a nod. He walks toward the kit, picturing her sitting on his lap on the drum throne, his hands covering her much smaller hands over the sticks. 

“Want to do something else?”

“Like what?”

She looks up at him and presses her lips together before reaching down in her backpack, which is sitting next to her on the floor. She pulls out one of the luffa sponges. 

“Will you show me how _this_ works?”

 

* * *

 

_EARLIER_

 

“I’ve never seen you standing this much, Solo,” Phasma observes, as she rearranges the rows of little succulents in her display. “You might actually make a sale today with this go-getter attitude.” 

Ben taps his fingers on the basket of luffa soaps, continuing to gaze at the girl across the aisle. She’s wiping down some of the chairs with a cloth. The act of half-hearted cleaning has never been so fascinating. 

“Just restless.”

“I thought maybe you broke your chair.”

He’s about to roll his eyes, when he replays her statement twice more in his head. _The chair_. His shitty metal folding chair. Who’s to say he’s not in the market for a nice wooden chair? 

_Yes._

He grabs a luffa soap from the basket. 

“Can you watch the booth for a minute…?” He’s out from under the tent and crossing the pavement before Phasma has the chance to refuse. 

The girl is bent at the waist ( _God, these chairs are low to the ground_ ), wiping a curved wooden seat, humming softly. He suddenly notices she’s wearing a pair of earbuds, like he does, when the market is slow. Ben almost hates to disturb her. 

Maybe the whole thing is a fucking stupid idea. Women who quietly hum to themselves don’t want strange men to bother them with questions about chairs. 

But as he starts to step back, she freezes, suddenly. He’s sure he hadn’t made a sound. It’s almost as if she can sense his presence behind her. She turns her head quickly, her light brown hair whipping around as she faces him. Her eyebrows are raised, almost defensively. 

“Sorry,” he says instantly, without knowing exactly what he’s apologizing for. “I didn’t mean to—”

She grabs the earbuds out of her ears.

“I just don’t like being snuck up on,” she replies. “That’s all. You know that feeling like you’re being watched? It’s a little—”

“I didn’t realize you were listening to—”

“You’re the guy with the sponges.”

“Uh...yeah. Luffa sponges. Ben.” 

He means to hold out his empty hand, maybe for her to shake it, although that seems formal and awkward, too. Instead, he thrusts the cake of luffa soap at her. She stares at it for a moment. 

“Are you—are you giving this to me?”

“It’s, uh...a sample.”

“Oh.” She takes the soap. “Are you sure?” She looks up at him. “You’re very generous over there at the luffa stand. You give out full-sized samples?”

She smells the soap again, closing her eyes like she did before, like she really wants to focus on the scent. Ben loses the thread of why he allegedly came over here. It’s so rare to watch someone genuinely, deeply enjoy a simple thing. 

“They’re literally a dime a dozen. We just mark them up.” _What a fucking stupid thing to say_. 

“Well, thank you. I’m Rey, by the way.” She tilts her head down slightly and raises her eyebrows, like she’s kindly asking _what the fuck do you want?_ in a subtle, non-verbal way. 

He cannot remember. 

She lays the slightly dusty cloth down on the back of a chair. 

_Chair!_

“I’m looking for a chair.” 

“A chair...for you?”

“Yes?” They both look confused. 

“You want to buy one of my chairs for _you_. Not for your son or daughter? Or...niece?”

“My—” _Does it look like he has a child?_ “No, it would be for the luffa stand. Instead of the folding chair. Wait, did you mean _you_ make the chairs?”

She furrows her brow. 

“Um, yeah. I make children’s furniture.”

Ben gives the chairs a closer look. They do look quite small. 

“I—um…” _Fuck_. “I see this tent every week from my booth, but I never really looked that closely at them. I guess all chairs look small to me.” 

She smiles. Actually fucking smiles at him. 

“Well, I mean, I’m certainly capable of making you a regular adult-sized chair.” Her eyes flick up and down his body. “Or, maybe an extra-large-adult-sized chair. We could do a custom order.”

He nods, even though he really doesn’t need a chair. 

“I could even make one that folds up,” she says, a touch of excitement filtering into her voice. “I haven’t tried that before—something with moving parts. It’d be a nice break from the usual. I do love a challenge.”

“Why do you always make the same, identical chair?” he asks. 

“Don’t have much choice,” she says with an indifferent little shrug. “Mr. Plutt says it’s more efficient and it’s his business. I’m just the person who does all the actual carpentry. And apparently now I’m also the sales rep.” 

She lets out a tiny frustrated sigh and it feels like there’s a lot more behind it than she’s letting on.

“I definitely want all the moving parts. You should have the chance to stretch yourself.” Her eyes widen. _Fuck_. “As a carpenter! I mean, you should use your skills…” 

She bites on her lip, possibly to avoid laughing. 

“I can sketch something for you and maybe you can come back this afternoon and we can discuss a price.”

“Okay. That’s...great. Okay.” He takes a few steps back, not wanting to fully turn around just yet.

“It going to take a pretty big basket of sponges and soaps for a fair trade!” she calls after him, once he finally turns. 

 

* * *

 

 

_LATER_

Once the water’s running, Ben returns his attention to undressing her. As he unhooks the buckle loops over her shoulders, it occurs to him that he’s never taken off a girl’s overalls before. The metal fasteners clink together as the straps fall behind her and everything comes down in one fell swoop. Apparently, overalls have their advantages. She’s just in her orange button-up shirt and a pair of polka-dot panties and she still looks so goddamn edible he almost hates to keep removing clothes. 

_Almost_. 

He undoes the buttons slowly, listening to the quiet sound of her breathing over the sounds of the running shower as her chest heaves a bit every time his hands move lower. 

And lower. 

Until all the buttons are undone. 

Then he pushes the shirt off her shoulders. She gives a little shrug when her simple white bra is revealed. 

“I didn’t think I was going to need a matching set when I got dressed today.”

“I could not give less of a fuck about that,” he says, undoing the clasp on the bra’s front closure.

“That’s good, because I don’t own one anyway.”

He lowers his head a bit, pressing his mouth just under her ear and lightly running his fingertips along her back, like he’s afraid to officially place them there. “My hands might be cold.” She does seem to shiver slightly, under his touch. 

“We could just get under the water,” she suggests, gently tugging up his sweater, making him feel mildly ridiculous for still having a _sweater_ on. “Take your clothes off. We need to make this a fair trade.”

At that moment, Ben hears something faintly: the sound of the boot-laden footsteps on the stairs leading up to the garage. But he just _cannot_ bring himself to interrupt her.

 

* * *

 

 

_EARLIER_

 

“That weird British man came by your booth.” Phasma says, when Ben returns. “Twice. I told him to come back in twenty minutes.” 

“You couldn’t just sell Hux some sponges?”

“He had a lot of complicated questions about sustainable farming practices and skin allergies.” She grabs her wallet from beneath her back table. “Your turn to babysit. I’m going for a crepe.”

Ben’s not sure what the appropriate amount of time is to wait before he returns to Rey’s tent. _Rey, the carpenter_. He imagines her using a nail gun or a table saw. Lifting planks of pine and cedar. Sanding the wood smooth. He worries that she gets splinters. 

He pretty much wants to return there every five minutes until he finally sees her hold up a piece of paper and wave at him. 

Quickly gathering the basket he’s prepared, he throws in a last minute addition. 

He doesn’t even bother to ask Phasma to keep an eye on the booth again.

 

“What’s this?” Rey asks, as he hands her the long green gourd. 

“A ripe luffa.”

“ _This_ turns into a sponge?” 

“After it withers on the vine, yeah.” He draws a little closer to her, so they’re both handling the luffa. “The skin gets all brown and it separates from the fiber inside.” His pinky finger accidentally swipes the tip of her gloved forefinger. “If you leave it hanging long enough.”

 _She’s wearing gloves: no splinters, then._

“Kinda gross, actually.” She says it with hint of a smile. “It really is like a skeleton.”

“You peel off the skin and then wash the sap out. That’s the gross part. Then it just dries in the sun.” 

“You make these? The sponges?”

He scoffs, like this is a ridiculous suggestion, when, in fact, it’s a perfectly logical thing to presume. 

“My uncle grows them and processes them.” He drops his hand from the luffa. “I just sell them.” 

The way she’s holding the luffa is...well, her small hands can’t fit around the circumference. Something about how her fingers wrap around it as she looks up at him… 

He’s glad his apron is still wrapped around his waist. Very glad. 

“You’re not a very good salesman—giving away the product like this.” 

“Sampling is important at a farmers’ market. How do you think people sell all that jam and granola and cheese?” 

“It’s too bad I can’t give out tiny furniture samples so you could have a taste of my wares. Before you buy the chair, I mean.” Ben swallows so hard he can almost see his own throat move. 

“Actually, I didn’t come back over here about the chair.” She looks momentarily confused, or even crestfallen. “What I want is your number.”

 

* * *

 

 

_LATER_

 

It’s _possible_ it’s nothing. People walk up a few steps and change their minds all the time. 

_I’ve been lucky all day_ , he thinks, just as his luck seems to be running out.

There’s a loud banging on the front door of the apartment. 

“Ben!” 

Rey freezes, and then pulls back slightly. 

“Who’s that?” she whispers. 

“My fucking uncle,” he says, over the unmistakable jangle of keys. “Stay here.” 

Ben stomps out of the bathroom and shuts the door quietly, not bothering to put a shirt back on. 

Ordinarily, he’d just scream at Luke from the bathroom or the bedroom, but he really doesn’t want to expose Rey to that dynamic this afternoon. She’s probably putting her clothes back on right this second.

He can see the door unlocking from the outside. Luke doesn’t know the meaning of privacy. It’s like he’s not even a fucking adult. 

Rushing forward, he catches the door handle and swings it open before Luke can burst in. 

“You didn’t unload the van, Ben.” 

“I’m kind of busy.”

His uncle raises his eyebrows. “Make sure it’s unloaded tonight. I need to inventory.” Ben starts to shut the door. “And I’m checking it against the Square receipts this time,” he says, not-so-subtly glancing around the apartment behind Ben to see the cause of his “busy”-ness. 

Ben shuts the door in his face and walks back to the bathroom. 

Rey is already in the shower, holding the luffa sponge out to him. 

His luck holds.

 

* * *

 

 

_EARLIER_

 

All things considered, the luffa tent is easy to pack up. It’s just a matter of putting the unsold sponges back in their containers, breaking down the tables and taking down the tent. And he does these things faster and sloppier than he’s ever done them before. 

Because as soon as he shoves everything in the cargo van, he can help Rey pack the furniture in Plutt’s truck. It’s a much more arduous task than putting away bins of sponges and the guy who drives the truck does the bare minimum to help. 

“It’s only fair,” Rey says just out of ear shot. “I’m not gonna help him unload it at the shop today.”

Ben works extra quickly. 

When the packed truck pulls out of the loading area, they’re left on their own. Ben grabs the greasy paper bag of empanadas while Rey fetches her beat-up backpack off the ground and slings it over her shoulder. They turn to face each other, hands in pockets, shoulders tense and shrugging. She rocks back and forth on her feet. 

“You ready?” he asks, even though the answer if plainly obvious. 

She bites her lip and nods. 

They walk across the aisle that lay between them all day. It’s just pavement again, with some chalk outlines where the tents stood twenty minutes ago.

When they get to the van and he unlocks the passenger door, Rey grabs his sweater just before he moves away. He freezes for a moment, running his eyes over her delicate features, giving her a chance to change her mind about the whole thing. 

She reaches her hand up to cup his cheek, feeling the nervous energy radiating from beneath his skin. Her head tilts back as she leans forward and kisses him lightly on the mouth, letting her lips part just enough to be an invitation. His lips accept. 

He kisses her back faster and—probably—sloppier than he’s ever kissed anyone before. 

 

* * *

 

 

_LATER_

“The thing about two people in one shower is that someone’s always left in the cold,” Rey says, reaching up to adjust the shower head. It barely helps. “We might have to get a little closer together.” 

Ben hasn’t said that much in the last few minutes. He’s mostly doing a lot of gazing and touching. Rey tilts her head back lets the water cascade over her scalp and down her back. The tiny rivulets of water running down the surface of her skin are mesmerizing. He could watch them forever.

“You’re tan,” he says, ever the conversationalist. 

She turns around to face him, holding up her forearm next to his. 

“Don’t you ever go outside?”

“Only on the Thursdays. And I’m under a tent.” 

“Oh.” 

“I burn easily.”

She smiles again, wiping some water away from her eyes. Ben grabs a luffa soap and rubs it over her chest and shoulders and then down to her belly—gentle, at first, and then a little more forcefully, explaining that exfoliation is important. Pulling her closer, he reaches around to her ass, dragging the his soapy hand up from the roundest part of her bottom, up to her lower back. 

“Turn around,” he says, nudging her shoulder. “I want to get your back.” 

“It’s good to be thorough,” she agrees. “Really…really thorough.”

“Mmm hmm,” he agrees, gliding the soap up and down her back, working it into a lather with the sponge. But soon enough, the luffa is just getting in the way and he lets both of his hands slide easily around her waist and up to her breasts. She moans a little bit as he takes one in each hand, his head over her shoulder, looking down at what he’s doing. He squeezes each of them lightly before gently tweaking her nipples. Her breath stutters immediately and she presses her back tight against his chest, reaching for the wall of the shower to steady herself. 

Keeping one hand around her breast, with his thumb circling the nipple, Ben moves his other hand down her stomach, below her belly button, and lower still, until he’s between her legs and searching for just the right angle with his fingers. 

Rey reaches her other arm up and behind her to grab at his head or shoulder or ear or _anything_ as the pads of his fingers circle her clit. She grinds her ass against his erection

“ _Oh_ …oh fuck, Ben. Please.” 

He’s slightly relieved she does remember his name; the fact that they don’t know last names yet is a bit of a turn-on. 

She moans as he increases the speed, his other hand still tugging on her nipple every so often. The moans turn into something much louder as she gets close. Ben prays that Luke is out of earshot, since the small bathroom window is open.

“I’m gonna come so hard for you,” she says, making it sound like a gift. “Just for you. Don’t stop.”

Ten seconds later, she’s as good as her word, her muscles tensing up as she tips over the edge, pulling at his hair. Then her body is loose and a little limp, tucked against him as she catches her breath, the water still falling over them. 

It feels nice to hold someone against his chest. They stay like that for awhile, until Rey turns around to face him and her hands immediately reach for his cock. 

“I have to admit,” she says, still a bit out of breath, “that ripe, um, luffa? It’s very inspirational.” She suddenly bends down and retrieves the cake of soap from the floor of the shower. Neither of them bother to make a joke about dropping it. Rey works the soap into a lather before encircling his length with her hands, to the extent that she’s able. “I can’t really get my hand all the way around either of you.”

He leans down slightly to kiss her again, as she continues to move her hands—one, and then the other, in a continuous flow—from the base to the tip. His whole body is tense and practically trembling after ten seconds of this. 

“You don’t think it’s ironic?” she continues. “Selling all these sponges made from oversized phallic vegetables?” 

“Technically they’re a fruit,” he croaks out. “Fuck. _Fuck_.”

Her hands move faster.

“Meanwhile, you’re just standing there, behind the table, with this under that apron?” Her thumb lingers on the underside of the head. “I think you knew exactly what you were doing, showing me the nice, green luffa, instead of the dried out sponges.”

“Rey—”

“So ripe. Just ready to be pulled off the vine.” Her hands move faster. 

“Stop fucking talking about luffas. Please.” 

She laughs and tilts her chin up to kiss him. 

“I won’t even mention what you said about the sap.” 

“Fuck, just like that,” he urges, as she increases the speed and friction. 

Placing both hands on the wall of the shower behind her, for stability, he looks down at her hands around his length, still mildly disbelieving that this is happening. His balls tighten and he know he’s about to—

“Do you think I could take a whole luffa down my throat?”

 _Fuuuuuuuck_.

He comes suddenly in hot, violent spurts all over her hands and belly. 

“I do love a challenge,” she adds.

It’s probably the luckiest day of his entire life.

The luffa sponge lays near the shower drain. Forgotten. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> [ Luffas are really something, y’all. ](https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Luffa)


End file.
